Five Years Up I Reveal I'm The Richest He Kneels And Begs novel Chapter 78

Val–de–Rêve shimmered. Inside a five–star hotel off the Champs–Élysées, the International Design Association’s gala pulsed with energy.

Crystal chandeliers scattered light like diamonds. Champagne flutes clinked. Couture gowns brushed against tailored tuxedos.

Nova Sterling stood at the epicenter, a vision in liquid–silver satin. Her hair cascaded in loose waves, minimalist diamond studs catching the light. She looked like the goddess of stardust made

flesh.

Champagne flute in hand, she conversed effortlessly with design directors from Maisons like Dior and Valentino–her confidence magnetic.

“Nadia,” a French couturier murmured appreciatively, “your ‘Stardust‘ collection… Those fluid lines? It’s like wearing captured moonlight.”

Nova’s smile was poised, ready to reply–when a blade–sharp gaze pierced her composure.

She turned. Her brow furrowed fractionally.

Zane Blackthorn.

In razor–cut black wool, granite–faced, his gaze laser–locked on her.

Ivy clung to his arm in saccharine pink tulle. Her sugary smile curdled the moment she recognized Nova.

Nova’s gaze slid

away, seamless. She resumed her conversation as if they were ghosts.

Zane cut through the crowd toward her.

“Nova Sterling.”

A ripple of tension. The designers nearby discreetly withdrew.

Nova lifted her chin. Her smile was polished, glacial. “Mr. Blackthorn. What an unexpected… coincidence.”

“You’ve been hiding.” His voice vibrated with suppressed fury.

Nova laughed softly, swirling her champagne. “Hiding? We’re divorced..”

Chapter 14: Empire in Flames

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Chant

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Zane’s brow tightened.

Ivy scurried after him, reclaiming his arm with possessive force. “Oh! Ms. Sterling!” Her voice dripped faux–surprise. “Fancy meeting you here.” Her eyes raked over Nova’s gown. “Divorce agrees with you, it seems. Found a generous… patron to get you through these doors?”

Nova’s expression remained unruffled. She flicked a dismissive glance at Ivy. “Invitations are merit–based, Ms. Callahan. Unlike some, I don’t require… escorts for credibility.”

Ivy’s eyes flashed with venom. She manufactured a quivering lip. “Credentials What credentials? Unless…” She leaned in, stage–whispering the poison: “…you offered special favors?”

Heads turned. Whispers ignited.

Zane’s voice cut low: “Ivy. Enough!”

Ivy ignored him, tears welling on command. “Zane, why defend her? She was nobody in design before! Now suddenly she’s the ‘rising star‘? Can’t I question it?” Her finger pointed accusingly. “Are you still hung up on her? Is that why you’re-”

Nova’s voice sliced through the theatrics, cool and clear: “Your fixation on Mr. Blackthorn’s past attachments is tedious, Ms. Callahan. But your obsession with my history is… illuminating.” She took a deliberate step forward, her gaze pinning Ivy. “If you researched me so diligently, surely you uncovered my undergraduate accolades – Top of my class. Parsons School of Design.”

A stunned silence fell. Ivy blanched.

Nova raised her champagne flute in a silent, devastating toast—not to them, but to the watching crowd–then turned away with finality.